


A New Place

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Sneakers (1992)
Genre: Backstory, Blindness, Changing Grades, Explanations, Fluff and Humor, Job offers, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Sneaking Around, Team Dynamics, college students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Carl Arbogast, age 19, caught breaking into the Oakland City School District computer to change his grades."<br/>"I know; we're the ones who caught him!"<em></em></em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Place

The air was _always_ a bit tense when they were just starting a new sneak, Bishop thought to himself. It _always_ took a while to shake it off and really get focused on their objective. So what was it about this school district building that was making him so edgy?

As of late there had been some uneasiness among the school district board about the security of children’s grades on the Oakland computers. Bishop didn’t know exactly how they had gotten ahold of his team’s name, but it wasn’t like they were about to refuse money. In fact, they jumped at the chance; three out of the four of them were sleeping in one apartment and a public education sneak was sure to let at least one of them relocate.

At the moment they were still divided on who that lucky person was going to be—Mother pointed out that he would be able to hold meetings with his morning conspiracy group elsewhere so Whistler wouldn’t trip over the magazines they were compiling, while Whistler complained that if he had his own apartment there wouldn’t be any magazines to trip over. Bishop secretly believed that because he was leader he ought to have first dibs at a new place, but he said nothing because he didn’t want to get his own hopes up.

“Hey, Bishop, Whistler and I are going to set up the directional and video outside,” Mother’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Sure, go ahead,” Bishop approved, taking Whistler’s elbow as he stood up and guiding him forward even as the blind man protested he could find the right direction on his own. Bishop didn’t answer, simply hoping that the sneak would go in the right direction just as well.

 

Mother groaned as he crouched in the darkness, making Whistler perk up.

“What’s wrong, Mother?”

“I just hope there aren’t any Anunnaki like the others warned me,” he muttered in answer, glancing at his companion. Whistler’s eyes were always blank, so he relied on the puzzled silence to inform him he needed to explain. “Anunnaki—they’re alien reptiles that can shape-shift after drinking human blood. The only problem is that they have to _keep_ drinking it periodically to maintain their human appearance.”

“Basically vampires,” Whistler said flatly.

Mother cringed. “That’s a... _crude_ way of putting it.” Turning his attention back to the directional, he carefully jacked in Whistler’s headphones. “Alright, Whis, flip ’em up. This is the first floor, northeast one.”

Whistler obediently flipped the headphones on and said promptly, “Restroom.”

“Alright. First floor, northeast two...”

They continued this way all along the first and second floors, but at “Third floor, northeast five” Whistler held up a hand.

“Hold it right there, Mother.” Whistler listened for ten long seconds, his brows knitting in confusion before clarity dawned and his lips parted in a coy, lopsided smile. “Well... _someone’s_ getting an A in American History.”

 

Whistler wasn’t really sure how it happened, but he and Mother ended up in the elevator, rising toward the third floor of the school district building. The elevator smelled of male teenage sweat and grass, most likely the same grass he and Mother had hunkered down in only a few minutes before. The boy must have been staked out too.

Perhaps it was a bad idea to go in without notifying Bish and Crease, but he was curious about whoever this young hacker was and Mother seemed okay with it.

“This is such a bad idea!” Mother moaned, fidgeting agitatedly next to him.

“Bish will forgive us,” Whistler responded simply as the elevator bell dinged and the doors opened.

“After you,” Mother said, nudging him in the right direction. Whistler moved cautiously forward, searching for the thin pad of air that always bounced off of him if a wall was near, but it seemed a pretty wide hallway—

He barely had a second of warning before a lean body slammed him to the ground. Mother swore as Whistler and the hacker rolled, limbs tangled together in a knot that ought to have been unachievable. Whistler took advantage of unexpected adrenaline and ended up on top, pinning the kid to the floor.

“Stay still!” he hollered, trying to catch the squirming arms. A knee to the gut sent him tumbling and he slammed into the wall he’d been searching for. With the breath knocked out of him, Whistler couldn’t chase the kid, who had jumped up and continued his escape, but a wild cry and a series of thuds told him Mother had it under control.

 

Carl yelped and squirmed under the hands of the second, bulkier security guard who hauled him up and put him against the wall.

“I didn’t do anything—” Carl tried to say, but the security guard cut him off furiously.

“Shut up! Whistler, are you hurt?”

The thinner one shook his head even as he coughed. “No, Mother, I...I’m okay,” he panted, pressing the palms of his hands against the wall as he staggered to his feet.

Carl was starting to calm now and he realized that these two weren’t in uniform. Wait...Had that one called the other one ‘Mother’? Carl was getting confused.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Who are _you_?” Mother countered, glowering at him.

If these weren’t security guards, maybe he’d be able to get away with the truth. “I’m Carl,” he confessed. “Carl Arbogast.”

“Right then, Carl,” Mother said sternly, “we know what you were doing.”

“How?” Carl asked incredulously.

“Our technology,” Whistler replied shakily. “Mother, a water fountain?”

Mother glanced around. “Um...three o’clock, almost at my back.”

Carl watched in growing realization and sympathy as Whistler moved forward, his hands stretched out searchingly. “Actually it’s more like four o’clock—a little bit more to your right,” Carl called out before he could stop himself.

Mother glanced at him in surprise.

 

Crease watched dubiously as Carl Arbogast explained guiltily to Martin about how he’d broken into the district building and begun changing his grades.

“I didn’t think for a second that anyone was going to come in,” he protested. “When the elevator bell rang, I tried to go for the stairs and ran smack-dab into your blind guy.” He cast an apologetic look toward Whistler, who felt his eyes on him and shrugged forgivingly.

“That’s a pretty great feat, getting in there without being caught,” Martin mused, running his hands through his hair.

Carl beamed with pride. “I know, right?” He paused and then leaned forward in interest. “How did _you_ guys do it? With all this tech?” He gestured around the van they sat in.

“Yeah, but the school district is paying us to do it,” Martin explained awkwardly.

Carl was confused for a few moments. “Man, I wish I were being paid for something like that.”

Martin sat up a little straighter and Crease hoped he wasn’t thinking what he already knew Martin was thinking.

“Carl, are you actually _interested_ in college?” Martin asked.

Carl shrugged sheepishly. “Not really...I just went to college to scope things out. I wasn’t really doing that well. That’s, obviously, why I wanted to change my grades; if I graduated with at least a B in every class, I’d be able to get a living!”

“Well,” Martin started with a small smile emerging, “scoping things out is what _we_ do for a living.”

Crease buried his face in his hands.

 

“...Money’s tight occasionally, but it’s a living and we could be advocates for you when you go to tell the school district what you did,” Bishop concluded.

Carl winced. “Do I _have_ to tell?”

“We may break and enter, but we’re not criminals,” Mother called out from behind his conspiracy magazine. He paused to consider his own words and shrugged slightly. “Well, at least not anymore.”

Staring at the faces around him one at a time, Carl asked, “Who in the world are you guys?”

“Martin Bishop and Associates,” Bishop responded simply, counting off. “Erwin Emory, ‘Whistler’ to us. Darryl Roskow, ‘Mother’. Donald Crease, ex-C.I.A. And I’m Bishop.”

“So I’d be one of your associates?” Carl was starting to look excited.

“Yep.” Bishop grinned as he shook the hand Carl immediately put out.

“I haven’t got anything better to do!” he announced cheerfully. “Tell me what I have to do! Where do we go now? Home?”

Bishop paused. “Do you have a place of your own?”

“Well, the rent on my apartment is pretty much out,” Carl said apologetically. “Maybe I could get a new place with one of you?”

Bishop closed his eyes and grimaced, Mother wordlessly smacked his forehead against his magazine, and Whistler began shaking with nearly silent laughter.

“Don’t worry, Mother, I don’t think he’s a vampire,” he mocked, making Mother glare at him venomously. Bishop shook his head. He didn’t know what the inside joke was and frankly he didn’t care; he was too busy praying that the pay for this would be _really_ good, and then he just decided not to get his hopes up.


End file.
